


My Brother's Blood

by Chaotc_Univrse



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Kidnapped John, Other, Pre-Canon, Young Arthur Morgan, Young John Marston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 20:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17608676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotc_Univrse/pseuds/Chaotc_Univrse
Summary: John goes missing and his new family will do whatever it takes to get him back





	My Brother's Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue how this idea came to me but here it is

Arthur couldn't help the quiet anxiety that gnawed at him as he layed down to bed. The feeling didn't get better with time, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling of his tent, listening to the voices outside. Dutch and Hosea. The worry that dripped from their voices couldn't be stopped.

John was missing.

He'd gone to clean his saddle. Dutch had gotten him a new one for the horse the boy was to start riding. He'd gone happily. No complaining as was usually commonplace for him. He'd gone. And he hadn't come back.  
And when Arthur had gone to jibe the boy for taking so long, his jest had fallen on nothing. On no one. Just the saddle now laid down in the dirt of the riverbank.

First he'd laughed. Brushed it off.

'Nice one.' He'd shouted out. 'Hide and seek? Really?'

He'd gotten no response. He'd shouted again, 'I don't have time for this John'

No giggle. No quiet laughter. Nothing.

'John?'

Hosea had joined him at that.

'What's the matter Arthur?' He'd asked, his voice having the usual calming influence it usually did. Hosea was here. It would be okay. John was just hiding.

But Hosea hadn't thought that.

He'd shouted for John in the way all adults did to signify the end of the game. To call a truce and end the game.

He garnered no reply.

Then he'd shouted for Dutch.

Dutch hadn't been quite so calm.

After a while, Hosea had told Arthur to go to bed. Arthur hadn't realised how long they'd been searching until he noticed it was dark.  
So they'd returned to camp. Still with no John.

Dutch had told him to sleep. Said they'd get John in the morning. Arthur knewthe man would have rather stayed out all night than wait but the look on Hosea's told Arthur who'd made the decision.

He laid there now. On the bedroll in his tent. Listening to the two older men arguing in their version of hushed voices.

"They can't have taken him far Dutch, we'll find him."

"The longer we wait the further they can take him."

"You can't race into their laps without being prepared first or you'll get yourself killed."

"I suppose you want to play along with their act, huh?"

"If only to see how far it gets us."

There was a beat of silence before Dutch spoke at a lower volume, as if they knew he was listening.

"What about Arthur?"

"Leaving him here may prove as dangerous as bringing him with us."

They were thinking of leaving him?

'They could try', Arthur thought to himself. He was going with them. No matter what they decided.

"I could go alone." Hosea suggested.  
It was a reasonable suggestion. In all the time Arthur had known the man there'd been nothing he couldn't talk his way out of.

"So could I," Dutch started, "I'm not letting you go alone."

"So we both go and leave Arthur here?"

"You ain't leaving me anywhere." The words fell out of Arthur's mouth before he could stop them. He cursed himself as he felt their gazes turn to him even through the fabric of the tent.

Their silence told him it was time to get up.  
Slowly, buying himself whatever shred of extra time he could, he left his tent.

Dutch van Der Linde's eyes watched his every move, noting the look of defiance on the boy's face.

"Something to add?"

His question wasn't harsh, but it was enough to set Arthur on the defensive.

"I'm coming with you," Arthur declared, sticking his chin out a little, "I can help."

Dutch and Hosea shared a look. They could stand here and argue all night for all Arthur cared. It didn't change the fact that come morning, he'd go with them. Whether they'd decided he could or not.

"Arthur, it-"

"It's dangerous," Arthur cut Dutch off the way only he dared, "I know. It is for John too. I can shoot."

"Perhaps you wouldn't have to." Hosea wondered out loud.

Arthur looked to him. That meant he had a plan. Dutch knew it too. As if their silence was an invitation, Hosea continued.

Dutch hated the plan.

He didn't bother to hide the fact.

He and Hosea argued, Arthur sat almost directly in between the two. In the end, Dutch had had no choice but to agree. He'd done so begrudgingly as if he placed all the blame on Hosea were the plan to fall through.

'We'll get him back,' Hosea promised both Arthur and Dutch when the three of them split to try and get some rest, 'We will get him back.'

 

* * *

 

  
Arthur agreed with Dutch.

Now that they left their horses out of sight and began the walk to the camp, now that Dutch and Hosea armed only with their revolvers strode towards the center of that camp. Now that Arthur saw how many people waited within it; rifles and shotguns resting in their laps and across their backs.

Waiting, expecting them.

This was a terrible plan.

"Gentlemen!" Dutch's voice boomed across the space, attracting their attention and keeping it.

Keeping it as Arthur snuck around the wall of the nearest house.

"We have come to parlay." A few of those waiting picked up their rifles. Held them ready at their sides.

Arthur reached the adjacent side of the house.

"We come with only the best of intentions."

The man on the porch of the largest house began strolling down the steps, his every step slow and deliberate. Arthur crept to the side of the next house.

"Somehow I don't believe that." The man on the porch said.

The next house had two people waiting in front of it; waiting to shoot. Arthur kept moving.

"We have yet to fire." Arthur wondered is Dutch's heart hammered as fast as his did. If it did, it didn't show.

"As do we." The man was smirking.

Two men stepped out of the back of the bigger house. Their rifles were drawn. And they weren't pointed at Dutch.

"We only want to know why you took our boy." Hosea said, as if sensing Dutch was close to drawing.

Arthur watched another armed man emerge seemingly from the ground at the back of the house. There. It had to be.

"Where is he?" Hosea's voice grew louder, demanding an answer. Though all he got from the men was a laugh.

Arthur steeled himself. He had to. Wait until the shooting started, that was what Dutch told him. Wait. Wait. Wait.

"I am losing my patience, gentlemen." Arthur had heard the voice Dutch used. He'd heard it before, knew what it meant.

All he had to do was wait. Just a few seconds more. He didn't dare think about whose favour the odds of the fight soon to come were in.

"One. More. Time," Arthur hated the voice Dutch used. It meant bloodshed. Brutal and endless bloodshed, "Where. Is. The boy?"

Arthur didn't see who shot first, but soon it didn't matter. Bullets were flying and horses were screaming, rearing and trying to run from the noise. Arthur tried to ignore them. Block them out. His focus turned to tthe back of that house.

The men at the back had begun shooting, moving to give themselves a better view of the two outlaws. Arthur set off. He kept low to the ground, moving quickly around the back of the houses.

Hosea had been right. No one spotted him. So he kept going. Going until he had one more house to go. He watched the entrance to the basement.

He had to be down there.

One of the men closest tumbled backwards, hitting the ground with a thud as one of Hosea's bullets found its mark. The other two with him moved up. Their attention was held.

Arthur moved.

He did as he had for each other before, keeping his eyes ahead of him on the house. The gunshots seemed to ebb away like a tide receeding. He forced it out. Refused to focus on anything but the house ahead of him.

They were too close. They'd notice him. They had to. When they did he'd be dead. He could shoot but his gun wasn't drawn and they would be quicker. They'd shoot him and he would be dead.

Then his hands reached the handles of the door to the basement. Waves crashed, bringing the gunfire with them. He was still alive. The shooting continued. He was still alive.

He tore out the plank of wood keeping the doors secured and threw the doors open. Stairs lead down into darkness. He did not baulk. He did the opposite. Without a second thought he descended the stairs. The basement was wide and empty, save for a table at end of the room.

He wasn't here.

There was a quiet scuffle behind him, and Arthur whirled just in time to catch the heavy plank John Marston swung directly at his head.

The boy froze. They both did; eyes locked and staring at the other.

John's gripped slipped on the plank, opening his mouth to speak before Arthur pulled him into a tight embrace, tossing the wood aside.

Arthur didn't make an attempt to move.

There they stayed in the other's comfort, gunfire echoing in the distance. A few sobs racked the younger boy's body though Arthur noticed his attempts to stop them.

He didn't notice how long they had stayed like that. Didn't noticed when they'd both ended up on the floor locked in each others arms. Didn't notice when the shooting stopped.

Though he heard the creak on the stairs. By the time the intruder made it to the bottom of the stairs, Arthur had his gun trained on them and his eyes burning a hole in them. Despite the stains down his cheeks, he held firm, even when the so called intruder revealed himself, and Dutch carefully stepped down into the basement.

To anyone else, he looked calm. Unfazed by the chaos and the bloodshed. But Arthur knew the look in his eyes matched his own, save for tears. The older man had always told him the eyes were what gave someone away.

Dutch took a slow step towards the pair, and Arthur's composure crumbled. His arm relented, the gun hitting the floor though his hand stayed wrapped around it.

Arthur wasn't sure how it happened; didn't remember quite how he'd ended up on his horse. In a world adjacent to his own, Hosea was talking. Maybe Dutch was too. They sounded too far away.

By the time he became aware of what he was doing, what was happening, they were back at their small camp by the riverside. Hosea was handing him a bowl of food. Dutch was sitting opposite him, watching him carefully. Arthur forced his arm to move. To take the bowl and force a thank you.

Hosea squeezed his shoulder and took a seat beside Arthur.

The boy pushed the food around in the bowl. It looked plain, though was more than they normally had. But for some reason it was more inedible than ever.

"John..." Arthur began to ask, slowly looking up to Dutch.

"Will be fine," Dutch said with certainty only he could manage, almost making Arthur believe him, "He just needs to rest. He'll be back to his regular self in no time."

Something within Arthur remained unconvinced. Yet he forced himself to eat. At least pretend his words had comforted him.

Not much scared him. Riding with Dutch and Hosea had that effect on people. But as did the years of uncertainty Arthur had lived before them. He was used to a lot. Yet he couldn't shake that horrible feeling that had filled him, couldn't forget it. He didn't know how Dutch and Hosea had managed to either.

He finished his food first, quickly standing and beginning heading to his tent. He wished a quiet goodnight to the two older men and didn't stay around to hear their responses. He felt their eyes following him all the way to the tent though didn't turn to glimpse them.

The food they'd given to John had been left untouched.

He was curled up on his bedroll, the blanket pulled up high. His pretense of being asleep was a good one. At a glance Arthur would have assumed he was. But sitting in the quiet of the tent he could see him shaking. Could hear his too quiet, too controlled breathing.

Arthur sat on his bed roll and watched the younger boy, "You should eat, you know. It'll make you feel better."

There was no response.

He heard him sniff, and sighed quietly. Carefully, Arthur shuffled over to sit next to him, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.

"You're alright now," he promised, "You're safe. Dutch and Hosea, they're not gonna let this happen again. I'm not either."

For a moment Arthur thought he was going to ignore him. Then, John sat up quickly and wrapped his arms around Arthur. The older of the two hesitated. They weren't really ones to show their feelings, especially to the other.

However, given the circumstances, Arthur couldn't argue.

He hugged back gently at first. When he heard his brother choke back a sob he held him tighter.

For the rest of the night, he held his brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Ta da! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
